Many Paths To Tread
by stalwart-standing-fast
Summary: (Reposting under new user name) Long have the children of the Dunedain, stood gaurd against the taint of Morgoth, however far it spreads. With the puppet Dark Lord vanquished, it's time for one very special daughter of the Edain, to come home. For while the fate of UnderEarth has been decided, the fate of MiddleEarth hangs by a thread.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: _Don't on TLOTR, or HP, just having fun with someone else's toys._

She slips away from her spot in the middle of the bed entirely un-noticed, despite having to extricate herself from the Dali-ish contortion of limbs. The sun has finally sunk beneath the horizon, and in spite of the chaos, the sorrow and joy, of only hours before, she knows that the Castle sleeps.

She doesn't look back at the occupants of the bed, she may just break if she does. Instead, she looks to the stars, specifically, to the curiously bright constellation rising in the North. From no place on Earth should that constellation be visible. And yet the crown of Beren rises. It's just one more proof.

It's time to leave.

She moves quickly and quietly, the batterd-no longer pink-beeded bag is swept of the floor. An other bag is pulled from its depths; slightly larger, and a non-discript greygreenbrown, the colour seeming to shift as it's moved. Along with the bag is pulled a cloak of a darker yet similar material which is thrown hastily over her shoulders.

The door closes behind her with a soft 'click'.

She finds what she's looking for in, no surprises, the dungeons, behind a heavily warded iron door. Even if it hadn't been her they'd come to hours ago to erect the wards, she still would have known that this is the place. It is the only room in the castle with a guard posted outside the door.

The wards fall as quickly as the guard, the hum as they're dismantled isn't audible but it's heard by the occupants all the same. One cautious blond head peeks around the door, eye's large and frightened in the half-light of the wall sconces.

"G...Granger?"

There's movement within the cell, swift and frantic, and then Lucius Malfoy is filling the doorway, exhausted, and beaten, and bloody, but not remotely broken, while Draco cower's slightly behind. "Is It done?"

"It's done."

"And...and you are...leaving?" His pride, whatever's left of it, won't let him ask what he very much wants to ask, and she's not cruel enough to make him.

"Tonight. Come, I persuaded them to lay him with the rest of the Orders fallen, and we only have another hour before the charm wares off. Bring your family, make sure they make no noise, the halls are patrolled." She catches the confused, questioning glance Draco, throws his father as she turns. Thankfully he's wise enough to keep his mouth shut. His mother is not. And this woman...this woman she owes not a shred of kindness.

The blow that Lucius sends flying into his wifes temple, sending her silently to the floor, is the only thing that keeps her from petrifying the bitch, and shoving her back in the cell.

There's a grunt as Malfoy heft's his wifes unconscious body over his shoulder, and then they're once again following her silently.

Staircase after staircase they climb until at last they find themselves before the doors of the Great Hall. Within, all is silent, the dead need no guard. Well, almost no guard.

"Hello, Hermione." She smiles in spite of herself, at the bright sing-song greeting.

"Hello, Luna. Shouldn't you be sleeping, there will be an awful lot of work for you in the morning you know?" Not all tears are a sorrow, she knows that well enough, but the thought of facing what's to come without Luna, and Xeno, cut's almost as deeply as the years have without her brother.

"Oh I know. I just wanted to say goodbye. Daddy did too, but the forest has stolen Seamus and Ernie, and the trees won't listen to anyone else." She's engulfed, without warning, by spindly arms and an imense heart, and though the trace is very faint in the Lovegood line, It still feel's like home. "Numarie."

"Numarie, Luna." She watches for one breathless moment, as Luna, skips down the darkened hallway, skin shining like starlight through mist, her hair a beacon in the dark, before turning away and bending once again to her task.

The doors open at a touch of her palm. Within, the world is silence and shadows. Narssisa Malfoy's dumped none to gently into her sons arms, while together, Hermione, and Lucius, march quietly and quickly down the isles of bodies, the dark no threat to their sight. They find him in a corner on his own, his body laid out with none of the reverence of the others. There's a strangled, "Dear Gods!" from the man at her side, as his eye's fall for the first time on the horror inflicted on the man he's called friend, brother, and lover, for twenty years.

"Lucius. LUCIUS?" She has to click her fingers under his nose to drag his attention back to her. "Hold him down. Shoulders to the table." There's fear in every line of his face, but he obeys her. She places her right hand on the gaping wound at Snape's neck, the other over his brow. The blood flows like a torrent the second she releases the charm, but she's already begun pushing. As powerful as Under Earth magic is, hers is stronger, older, and here? Almost completely without limit.

Venom runs clear and viscus from the wound even as the skin begins to knit. Lucius Malfoy's awe filled voice almost breaks her concentration. "I wanted to believe...I always wanted to believe...Father always said, but...this is incredible," He falls again into silence just seconds before she's finished, and unasked, wandlessly conjures 'Lumos' for her, that she can examine the pink, ropy, but above all, healthy scar, that now adorns his lovers throat.

The 'Boom' on the other side of the doors to the Great Hall is accompanied by a yelp from Draco, and a choked gasp from the man she's just spent so much of herself to heal.

She's at the door seconds later, yanking them open just as the wizard on the other side is raising his staff to knock a second time.

"You're Late, Gandalf."

"A wizard is _Never _late, Valandi, he arrives _Precisely_ when he means to!"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: You know how this goes...Dont own, not making money, just playing.

Again and again his fever has broken in he last few days. The venom is long gone, but it had been in his system long enough to do extensive damage. damage, which she has, for the most part, healed. The fact that Severus Snape is a hepatitis sufferer however, was _Not_ in Pomfreys healers notes. Alcohol, she'd thought. Then she'd found the old track marks.

septicemia must have set in at some time during the Battle for Hogwarts.

His fever finally breaks for the last time just as she's reaching the limit of her own strength.

Draco, who'd managed, somehow, to force his father to take some rest a couple of hours ago, has, untill now, been a silent sentinel hovering somewhere on her periphery. At a word he's by her side, his nose crinkling at the sour smell emanating from the man on the cot. "We need to move him. Go outside and ask for Nervii, tell him I need a fresh pallet. Once you've done that come back, I'm going to need your help to clean him." He did what she said without question and was back within seconds, Narvii and Bahon following behind with a pallet and clean linens.

She's already stripped the fouled blankets from Snape, using them to wipe away as much of the sweat as she could from his body, when Draco approached. "What can I do?" He asked softly.

"Fill the hand basin there as quickly as you can, we need the water boiling. Next to it you'll find a bottle of vinegar and a small box; add a cap and a half of the vinegar, and from the box you'll need to add two of the long dark green leaves; the shiny ones shaped like spears."

He was moving before she'd finished speaking: A silent _Augmenti_, and a heating charm took care of the water; the vinegar went in next. At the leaves he paused. "Do these need to be crushed at all?" Valandi almost smiled. It was a good question, spoken by the godson of a true potions Master.

"No, Draco, they're fine as they are." She could read the fear behind his curiosity though. She continued as they began washing Snape down. "The Hathallon is related to the Athallas plant. Both plants have restorative properties, among others. But unlike Athallas, Hathallon grows in far hotter climbes, and mimics the structure of cacti,"

"So it's a succulent then? Which would explain why you don't need to crush it. of course."

"Exactly. Heat releases the oils. Crushing would do damage to it's strutcure." Unasked, (and uncaring for his own clothes, which were starting to look a little worse for ware) he clambered up on the pallet, lifting his godfather by the shoulders before sliding into a sitting position behind him, resting him against his own exhausted frame.

"You said 'other properties?"

Quickly and with as much dignity as she could provide her patient, she worked her way up his legs and around his groin. "Hmm?"

"The plant. You said it had other properties?"

"As I said, both plants are used as a restorative, although if that's your primary purpose I'd suggest Athallas- Hathallon is an incredibly effective emollient. Keeping a chill of his lungs untill he regains some of his strength will be important over the next few hours. This is the quickest and most risk free way of doing just that." She stepped away with a gesture that brought Behon and Narvii to her side.

Without a word, they cradled Snape between them, carrying him as gently as they would their own children, to the cot they'd fixed for him close to the fire. It was as she, with the unexpected help from the younger Malfoy, were bundling the soiled bedding for burning and the brothers were laying the heavy blankets across him, that his eyes opened.

"Estelior!" The word was whispered.

"Narvii?"

"He wakes." He said, with a gesture at the cot.

Draco jumped. A second ago, the woman he still wasn't completely convinced was Granger, looked fit to collapse, but no sooner had that man uttered those words than she was across the room; her long legs closing the distance with purpose; her back straight, and a gravity in her face that he still wasn't used to. He could see Severus struggling weakly against the hands of the two men attempting to hold him down, his week mews of fear almost broke Draco's resolve not to cry.

Granger, or whatever the hell she was called here, spoke a single command in a langauge he didn't understand. Both men left as quietly as they'd entered. He hadn't expected the consoling hand each man rested on his shoulder as they passed out of the tent, but it was appreciated.

"Draco, fetch your father. Severus will need him. He'll trust no one else."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Again, you know how this goes- Dont own, just having fun.

Abraxus, Lucius' father, had spent a lifetime digging through family records, seeking treasure amongst the detritus of family myth and fable. Above all else, even family, it had been the dedication of all his days.

The old man would have wept with rapture if given the chance to stand where Lucius stood now. For days now, the only feeling that penetrated Lucius' fear for Severus survival, was a numb sort of incredulity and cautiousness.

This place, this _Middle Earth_, lived, truly lived. He could feel it in the earth, taste it in the water, smell it in the air. This was not the sleepy cradle of Malloy land that had protected and fostered Lucius, all his life. Even Hogwarts, in all it's semi-sentience, couldn't begin to touch the raw, alien, watchful power of this place. Perhaps more alien the land, was the woman, the child he hadn't thought to know before fourteen months ago.

Three days they'd been camped in the shadows of a line of hills, among the grim, grey eyed, men and women of the Dunedin. In those three days, he'd had ample opportunity to observe Hermione Granger...or Estelior. She was a tireless enigma, as silent and grim as those that shared their camp, as she slowly, and with little to no thought of food or rest, nursed Severus back to health. What struck Lucius the most, wasn't the physical changes, though those were a revelation; nor was it the change in her character, as he and Severus had long suspected Hermione Granger to be a convenient mask. What struck Lucius the most, was the quiet deference in which she was treated. These people, with their nobel mien, and stern countenance, and warriors all, even the children, all looked to his companion for orders.

It was...unnerving. Perhaps more so for Draco, but then, Draco was both smart enough, and cowled enough, by the Granger mask, let alone this _Estelior_, to comment.

Narcissa, was not.

It was careless and arrogant of her to assume that, merely because their hosts hadn't spoken English that they could not. It was unfortunate that she'd passed such a crass comment within the hearing of the power wrapped in flesh and bone, that called himself Gandalf.

Silence had fallen the moment the term Mudblood had been uttered. Cold fire burned in the eyes of every face turned to Narcissa, but it was Gandalf that spoke the mood of the many.

"Have a care how you chose to loose that tongue, unless, of course, the choice is to lose it.

"There are lines, madam Black, far older than yours. Regal lines that were shaping the fate of this world, and others, while your ancestors were painting themselves blue, and fashioning the walls of their huts with their own muck. Esteliors line is older still. Ancient before even the stars were born. There is a power and a strength in her frame, older and stronger than the bones of Middle Earth. If I were you, I'd be very carefull how I chose to tempt that power."

From that night to this morn, Cissa had been as silent as the grave. Gandalfs words shaking her to attention. She'd looked..._Really_ looked, and had, at last, seen what had been obvious to Lucius and Draco from the beginning; Among these people, Granger was Queen, Commander, and comrade. Her word was law, and her will absolute.

A gentle hand at his shoulder drew Lucius from his thoughts, away from his contemplation.

"Draco?"

"Severus is awake, father," There was no recrimination or scorn in his sons voice, none of the disgust that had been present when he'd first discovered the nature of the relationship his father and godfather shared. The war had left it's mark on all of them, none more so than Draco. And yet Lucius found himself grateful for the quiet, soft spoken, _unbroken_ man it had left in the place of the boy who'd been his son.

"Gra...Vall..._Estelior_, she asked that you come. Uncle Sev's confused and she thinks the truth may be easier to swollow if it came from you."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: _You know how this goes, you lovely people you. Don't own, just having tons of fun playing in some else's toy box._

* * *

They'd had little chance to talk these few days, and had smaller hope of finding the time in the days to come. Between his task and her own, they hadn't found a moment, and though he felt her exhaustion almost as greatly as he felt his own, he would find no peace, no comfort without unburden his heart to her.

She looked impossibly lovely in the starlight. The first, the only, in the long line of her forbears, in whom the light of their origin shone...a reflection of the Maia that began the line. But tempered, hardened. Like a vein of Mithril running through luminous marble, But no less lovely for it. It was a most welcome sight, even for the brief pain it brought him. Here was an echo of his youth far into the west. A shade of grace not seen on middle earth since the breaking.

It seemed a shame to disturb her, but...

Gandalf sighed. There would be time, just not now.

"How fares your patient?" It was the safest topic to broach. Of her war he would not ask, and she would not tell. Only with one would she willingly share the full cost and account of her sacrifice. Only one would know the full weight of the horrors that haunted her eyes.

"Confused. Healed. Broken. Angry, overjoyed...Take your pick." She scrubbed at her scalp, her gesture mirroring the frustration and exhaustion that laced her voice. For the first time she turned to meet his concerned gaze, the compassion in his eyes. Her hand fell away from her hair, her shoulders rising and falling as she to sighed. She offered him a hand, which he took, quietly pulling her closer to the fire. "Forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive. Here sit a while, you're fit to drop. How long is it since you last slept?"

"To long. But...well, I'm _Home_, or, at least, very nearly. There's no better cure for the heart sore and weary than that." It eased Gandalfs soul to see her smile, even if it couldn't chase all the shadows from her eyes.

"And glad I am of it. You've been sorely missed, Valandi." He said, reaching to tweak the end of her nose, and watching as a few more of those shadows fled.

Without warning, a great pressure bore down on them, the shadows growing long and forbidding. Both felt the un-natural stillness that fell in the forest seconds before a convulsion passed deep under the earth. A tremor passed through him and through his companion, as the last convulsion passed. The silence grew tense; the air colder as grim determination steeled his veins.

Valandi rose, stepping on silent feet beyond the fire. At the edge of the small clearing she came to rest, her gaze fixed to the East. Above her the clouds broke, the light of the full Moon wreathing her in it's glow. She turned to him, the light catching her eyes, setting the navy, storm blue ablaze. For the first time, he felt the weight of her presence, the whisper of what she could become (The choice that yet lay before her.) It was as Elrond had said; '_She is like the will of Vilya made flesh.'_

"The day of our parting draws closer. War awaits us on the roads we must take. _His_ corruption spreads like a cancer...you feel it as well as I. Destiny lays heavy before us and we have no choice but to meet it." Her look became infinitely soft. In her face he saw the gentle inquisitive student he'd helped raise from the cradle. "To long have you held your own council, teacher. You bear the weight of your duty with great pain...But you do not bear it alone."

"Will you not unburden your mind? Will you not let me ease your cares?"

The storm had passed leaving calm in it's wake. "Come then, little mother. Come sit beside me and help me prop up these old bones, but let us not talk of 'burdens'. I'd rather hear of your curious companions." He drew his pipe from his cloak, careful not to pay to much attention to the moments hesitance in Valandi's step. "There is Quendi blood there, yes?"

"...Aye. Decendants of the Mornedhel. Last sons of a line long lost."

"Perhaps the elder, yes. But there is barely a trace in the younger. And you would see them returned to the land of their fathers?"

"No!" And more gently, "No. I cannot give them that for which they no longer have a claim. That line has twisted beyond all recognition. Even their name reflects the depth to which they have fallen, "Malfoy." It translates as the, "Sick Family." Redemption is not mine to offer, and Lucius, 'Light' of that family, would not accept it if it were. Through blood, and sweat, and tears, has Lucius sought to redeem himself, to regain his family's honor. He means to continue doing so untill the oaths he has sworn to his self are fulfilled.

Draco...Draco I would see set sail to the undying lands. I would have him know peace."

"That is not your's to grant, Valandi."

"Perhaps."

A green stem on the fire hissed in the hush.

"And the other? The woman is of no importance. But the man, the dark one, what of him?"

"Aside from the fact that he's the bravest man I've ever known (and that I owe him my life many times over)? Well," She said, the sly twist to her lips a sure sign that mischief was brewing. "We'll call him Luthian, to Lucius', Beren."

The fit of coughing and choking wrang through the forest, accompanied by her sharp clear laughter.

* * *

A/N just some hint's to better understand the text.

Vilya- Mightiest of the three rings elven rings; the ring of winds;belonging to Lord Elrond.

Quendi- 'Elven' in the Quenya tongue.

Morendhel-Dark elfs; Elfs that never made the journey into the land of the Valar.


End file.
